


Mad Tea Party

by The_Jashinist



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Non-Consensual Drug Use, back on my shit again, welcome back to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 12:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17325425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Jashinist/pseuds/The_Jashinist
Summary: Mad Hatter wants to have a tea party, but his guests aren't too keen on being there themselves.





	Mad Tea Party

**Author's Note:**

> Got the idea from an ask by tumblr user agent-jaselin.

Edward had a bad feeling about all of this.  The blindfold, the fact that he wasn’t tied up, the metal ring being lifted off of his head, the weirdly ever-present smell of sweet things.  He didn’t remember a blessed thing, and he didn’t think he was supposed to.

Edward reached up and lifted the blindfold off as someone began humming as they shuffled about.  Edward looked around this new room he found himself in with a gaping mouth. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to make this room up in wild colors with hundreds of bright flowers bursting from the planters.  A long, winding table sat in the center, covered with cake trays and tea sets, everything set for a tea party for hundreds. Yet Edward found only one other person sat across from him, looking around in the same confusion, though a little less slack-jawed.

“I have no words,” the man remarked, pulling the red blindfold free of his neck.

“You don’t need those!” came the cheerful reply from the head of the table, where the third guest sat in a high-backed lavender chair.  The man across from Edward snorted.

“Oh, you have to be kidding me.”

The third guest, or perhaps he was the host, since he didn’t look very confused about it all, was a small man, or maybe it was an eleven-year-old, he was about as short and looked about as young, with a ridiculous blue top hat on.  A card, tucked into the purple and green-striped hatband, read “In This Style: 10/6” in big, looping letters.

“What’s to kid?” the man asked, “How does one kid?  What does it mean to kid?”

“Are you drunk?” Edward asked.  The man across from Edward gave him a look.

“Exceedingly lucid, though you should not,” the hatted man smiled, “have some tea and we’ll hear your thoughts.”

“I’m leaving,” the man across from Edward stood and started for the door but stopped when the hatted man pulled a gun from under his head and pulled the hammer back.

“Sit down, Dr. Crane,” the hatted man ordered, “we aren’t done here.”

Crane turned to the man, “So you are lucid.”

“I said so, did I not?” the man raised his eyebrows, “Dr. Crane, Mr. Nygma, I’ve been planning this for a long time.  Do sit back down.”

“That gun isn’t loaded,” Crane noted, “you wouldn’t risk killing us.”

“True, on both counts,” the man smiled and pulled the trigger, “the gun isn’t loaded.”

Crane raised his hand and pulled something off his neck.

“With bullets.  Now I suggest you sit, Dr. Crane, before that dart acquaints you with the floor.”

Crane was about to speak when his knees buckled, and he had to catch himself on the table.

“After all,” the man continued, “you are so very tall, it’s so very long a fall.”

Crane slumped back into a seat, his breath pitching up.  Edward found himself frozen in his seat. Crane’s eyes were starting to dart around, his pupils were becoming wide discs.  After a moment of quiet processing, Crane let out an ear-piercing shriek and threw his head back. Edward could see his chest heaving, whatever had entered his system, Crane was not taking it well.

“Oh dear,” the man pouted, “I don’t think he likes it much.  Oh well, next up,” the man turned to Edward, fitting another dart into the gun and smiling, “make this easy, won’t you?”

“Tell me what it is,” Edward demanded.

“I can’t do that,” the man smiled, “but I can tell you it isn’t what he’s having.”

The man pointed to Crane, who was starting to pitch around like he was tied to the chair he was sitting in.  His head slumped, as if in defeat. The man started humming, a song Edward didn’t recognize, and quietly, gaining volume, Crane started singing along.  The words formed a song that was mostly nonsense, but the man’s delighted clapping indicated they were at least the right words. The man turned back to Edward, looking expectant.

It didn’t really look like Edward had a choice anymore.  He picked up the teacup in front of him and took a sip. Whatever was in it, it made the tea bitter and foul-tasting, but the man was smiling so he was better off just drinking the stuff instead of making him angry.

Edward put the cup down and realized he was dizzy.  When did he start getting dizzy? Edward braced himself on the table and looked at the man, cheerfully and carefully taking the tea from Crane’s place and giving him a fresh cup, presumably one without drugs in it, all the while humming so Crane would keep singing his nonsense song.  The words had turned into a buzz of white noise, nothing but the tune was carrying. Edward sank onto the table, struggling to keep his eyes open as a fog clouded his thoughts, only small notes and words popping in and disappearing just as quickly. Thoughts of running, escaping, they appeared and vanished at the same speed, as if being constantly dismissed by a man too tired to even keep his head up.

Edward didn’t hear the shattering of glass, didn’t register the shouting and fighting around him, he only recognized a bright light in his eyes and a deep buzzing as anything not related to him.  The rest was white noise and pitch black, a sea of nothing as far as Edward could comprehend.

* * *

 

Batman had guessed the right neighborhood, but the wrong house.  He didn’t figure out the house until a scream echoed through the streets.

He needed to hurry.

Batman stepped onto the warehouse roof and slid into a vent.  Soft singing echoed through the metal corridors, repeating a nonsense song with no beginning and no end.  The voice was familiar, definitely Jonathan Crane’s. That was one missing patient solved, Batman hoped the second was here as well.

That they were missing needn’t have been a problem, but where Crane’s escapes generally did result in a dead space of a few months, Edward Nygma didn’t go dead, not even for an hour.

It had been three days.

Batman dropped down into a stack of crates and found a makeshift room built in the center of the warehouse, fitted like a bizarre tea party and featuring both missing patients and a third figure, one that looked significantly more lucid than his guests.

Nygma was limp, barely moving unless touched and even then, his reactions were sluggish.  Crane more than made up for it though, his head darting about and twitching incessantly as the nonsense song spilled out of his mouth like a broken record.

Batman scowled and jumped down to stand atop the makeshift walls.

The man froze for a moment, then screamed loudly, “NO ROOM!  NO ROOM!”

“Help,” Crane begged, breaking through his jabbering for a moment.  Unlike Nygma, whatever he was on hadn’t taken away the situation’s terror, it might’ve even amplified it.

“It’s very rude to come to a party uninvited,” the man continued, and Batman jumped into the room.

“It’s also rude to keep your guests by force,” Batman noted, “but here we are.”

“SHUT UP!” the man shouted.

“You need to let them go,” Batman repeated, “whatever you drugged them with, it isn’t worth it.”

The man looked between Crane and Nygma, then back at Crane, who looked profoundly uncomfortable and terrified.  The man furrowed his brow and stomped his foot on the table. He was being childish, and probably didn’t think he was doing anyone harm.  Batman could work with this.

“I just wanted to have a party,” the man insisted, “a Mad Hatter needs a March Hare and a Dormouse.”

“I don’t think your guests want to be at the party,” Batman replied, “what did you give them?”

Mentioning the drugs had to help. With two mentally ill victims, one of the two had to be on something bad for them.

“Psilocybin for the Hare, Xanax for the Dormouse,” the man replied, cocking his head, “why?”

There it was, giving Crane a psychotropic, that could do damage.

“Your ‘Hare’ has bipolar disorder  _ and  _ anxiety,” Batman raised his voice, hoping it could get through to the man, “you could make him worse just by dosing him with that!”

The man’s face went pale, indicating Batman was right on the mark. “I didn’t-”

Batman began helping Crane to his feet, “Come with me then, if you didn’t mean to do any harm, you didn’t know what you were doing, I can get you help, and them.”

The man shook his head, “No police, no, no police!”

“Look at me Tetch!” Batman shouted, and the man looked at Batman in surprise.  Batman lowered his voice, “It’s Jervis Tetch, right?”

The man slowly nodded.

“You.  Need. Help.   _ They _ .  Need.  Help. I can get you help, and I can get them help, but you need to  _ let _ me help.  And yes, that means police.”

Tetch hesitated but taking another look at Crane seemed to convince him, a little.

“He’s scared,” Crane whispered.

“I know,” Batman agreed, “can you walk?”

Crane nodded, but he didn’t seem sure.  He seemed to be gripping Batman for dear life, afraid if he let go, Batman would vanish.  Batman kept a hold on Crane, hoping the drug wasn’t doing too much damage.

Getting Nygma out to an ambulance was harder than getting Crane out.  Crane was stumbling, unsure and unsteady, but at least he could walk. Edward was just dazed deadweight.

And Jervis, well Jervis was sitting in a patrol car, head buried in his hands as his victims were driven off to the hospital.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of them look that guilty,” Gordon remarked.

“He should be in Arkham,” Batman suggested, mostly addressing the forensic officer leaning on the back of Gordon’s patrol car.

“He came willingly, apologizing,” the officer shrugged at Gordon, “I’ll interview him in holding and see if the suggestion works.  At least he won’t try to bite my ear off.”

“Paramedics said Crane should be fine,” Gordon added, “he wasn’t dosed enough to cause any problems, but he’s not responding well.”

“If I can talk to him once he’s down, I’ll see if he can tell me anything more,” Batman offered, “Nygma wasn’t conscious, and Crane could tell what was going on despite the psilocybin.”

“I’m not sure he’ll want to talk,” the officer said, “last time Crane was coming off something that strong he tried to kill Bullock.”

“He bit my hand!” Bullock shouted, “That is not the same thing as attempted murder Curtis!  And he bit my hand because I had food in my hand!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Gordon replied, “get some rest, it’s been a long night.”

“It’s still early,” Batman answered, shooting a line into a nearby building.

“What kinda limp bullshit was that?” the forensic officer asked as Batman disappeared onto the roof, “It’s fucking three in the morning, you pretentious fuck!”

* * *

 

Batman opened the hospital door and had to keep himself from smiling.  Crane, the second he came down from his own high, had been insistent on keeping near Nygma, whose dose of Xanax had turned out to be too high for his weight.  It wasn’t lethal, but he’d been unconscious for almost twenty-four hours. Crane had fallen asleep keeping an eye on him, his head resting on the bedrail.

Nygma, however, was now awake, looping his fingers through Crane’s dark curls absently.

“Good to see you’re alright,” Batman noted, drawing Nygma’s attention.  Nygma hushed Batman and looked back at Crane.

“He looks peaceful,” Nygma whispered, “how is he?”

“Better off than you were when you got here,” Batman replied, keeping his voice low, “Tetch, the man who drugged you, is in processing at Arkham, he didn’t realize he was hurting you.”

Nygma looked at Crane, then at Batman, “Am I going back?”

“For now, you and Crane are going to stay in Gotham General,” Batman replied, “the doctors want to make sure neither of you suffered any adverse effects from an extended period under the influence of either drug.  Eventually, however, you will both be going back to Arkham.”

Nygma nodded, “Figures.  Why worry though? Arkham doses me with sedatives too.”

“A lower dose,” Batman noted, “the period is more for Crane than you.  Psilocybin interacts poorly with both of his conditions and they need to make sure the interaction wasn’t too extreme.”

“Right.” Nygma smiled his usual smile, but it was muted, “Don’t suppose he’ll be happy to see you when he wakes up, will he?”

“Jonathan Crane?  No, no he won’t be.”

“Then you should probably go now,” Nygma suggested.

Batman stood and walked out, letting himself smile as he walked through the halls.

They were doing fine, better, in fact, that was a relief.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: psilocybin can make anxiety and bipolar disorder worse!
> 
> Anyway yeah I really liked agent-jaselin's idea of Tetch kidnapping a March Hare and Dormouse.
> 
> So I wrote that.


End file.
